


Brother, Father, Lover

by TheLockPickingVictorian



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: All the family, Established Relationship, F/M, Team Arrow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 21:17:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2888213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLockPickingVictorian/pseuds/TheLockPickingVictorian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’ll stop flaunting my relationship with your sister when you stop flaunting yours with mine.” Roy told him, using all of the tips and tricks that Oliver had taught him to seem more intimidating to the older archer. “I saw the magazines this week, Queen. You can act all adorable and love-struck for the press, but I’ve got memories that I’d do anything to forget. Brain bleach needs to be invented so I can get rid of the urge to sterilize all vertical surfaces in the ArrowCave after you two have been left alone.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brother, Father, Lover

**Author's Note:**

> This may or may not have come from the fact that I'm almost obsessed with the family dynamic of team Arrow, and of the relationships between Lance and Felicity and Roy and Felicity. But Roy's presence in this defiantly comes from my current obsession with Colton Haynes! No doubt about that.

“You were with Thea too long.” She laughed, gripping tighter onto Roy’s shoulders as he looped her around the floor. It entertained her to no end how the thief-from-the-glades-turned-vigilante could waltz her so effortlessly around the Queen Manor ballroom.

“I was not!” He laughed. “ _This_ is the basics! I knew all of this before I so much as meet Thea.” And while she seriously doubted that, her spun her sideways, showing off as he maneuvered himself - and consequently, her - around the other occupants of the dance floor. Digg and Lyla were out there somewhere, with Thea standing aside as she fussed over the not-so-much-of-a-baby-anymore Sara. Quentin and Laurel were dancing too, although not with each other. Laurel fit seamlessly in Ted’s arms, while Felicity was almost certain that the Captain was dancing with her mother. It was hard to be sure though, since _that_ did not look like the kind of dresses that the cocktail waitress normally wore. “I think you’ve just been dancing with the wrong people!”

“I dance with Oliver, normally.” She told him, following as he spun her away and began again when he drew her back in. “Ever since that first gala, where the men were all handsy and Oliver broke one guys nose because he ripped my dress.”

“Ouch.” Roy said, but there was a surprising lack of sympathy in his voice for someone who knew what it felt like to be punched by Oliver. Or maybe it wasn’t that surprising. “Do you think it’s healed by now?”

“Probably.” She shrugged. “We are talking about something that happened over a year ago here.”

“Good.” Roy nodded thoughtfully, pulling her closer and holding on to her more securely. “So, uh… what did you say that this guy’s name was?”

“Roy, no!” She cried, cringing as the other dancers turned to glance at them, some of them curious, some of them disapproving at the volume of her voice. Or maybe just disapproving of her in general and her shout just gave them a reason the show their disdain. But she ignored them anyway, instead choosing to focus on glaring at the young man who held her. “Over. A. Year. Ago. You are not going to punch a man for molesting someone who he’s probably already forgotten! Oliver and I did enough of that last time. I’m pretty sure he’s already learnt his lesson.”

“No, I was going to go punch the man who you said ripped your dress. I might just have to go and get my bow now that you’ve brought up the word ‘molestation’.” Roy’s fingers tightened on her skin, the anger that he was slowly gaining the ability to control tightening his angular features. “Besides, Oliver got to play his ‘jealous boyfriend’ card; when do I get to cash in the ‘don’t touch my sister’ one?”

“Never.” She scolded him, stepping on his feet purposely for his stupidity - even if it was the sweetest thing someone had ever offered to do for her. “And I’m pretty sure that it’s _actual_ name is the ‘don’t touch my baby sister’ card. So maybe you should let Digg handle this one, hey?”

“What do I get to do?” He scoffed, rolling his eyes at her. “Sit in the corner and suck my thumb?” She laughed at the mental image that accompanied his words, and then she kept laughing, glad that he was there to hold her up when her knees went wobbly.

“If you want!” She told him, trying and failing to keep the giggle out of her voice, but she was able to support her own weight in her heels again, which had to be some sort of a miracle, while he attempted to glare at her. (‘Attempted’ being the key word to how successful he was in the business of keeping a straight face.) “Or, you know, it could just be your job to help me when times get really bad and I need you and your cuddles.”

“Don’t I do that already?” He asked in a scoff, but he moved the hand that held hers around her waist, laid right next to his other hand, and he hugged her to him tightly. It hindered their dancing, but she tucked her arms under his, her fingers spreading out over his shoulder blades and it was warm and loving and everything she’s ever wanted as a child. (Well, that and for Daddy to come back home.)

“Screw that.” Roy promised, kissing her forehead before he buried his nose in the untameable curls by her ear. “I’ll kick the shit out of anyone who hurts you, Lis. Human, Metahuman, Criminal, Mirakurued, _Oliver_ \- doesn’t matter. I’ll take a sledgehammer to them. Repeatedly.”

“As long as I get to join in.” She laughed at the absurdity of the idea, that anyone other than herself would remember this conversation, and she closed her eyes tightly, just for a second, taking in the wonder that she wanted to keep as she pressed her cheek into Roy’s shoulder.

“You got yourself a deal, Blondie.” He nodded, and it wasn’t until he stepped back away from her that she realised, the music of their fourth (fifth?) dance was trailing to a close. She moved back too, not really wanted to let him go. It wasn’t often that she got moments like this in her life. “I love you, Lis. Don’t you dare ever forget that.”

“Never.” She promised. “One more?”

“You said that about three dances ago!” He laughed, slipping his hand around hers to pull her with him. “Come on. Let’s go get drinks before I get accused of hogging you. Again.” She rolled her eyes, but trotted after him.

“If Oliver wants to complain about me dancing with my baby brother, he can sleep on the sofa.”

“Or, you know, in his giant mansion rather than in your tiny little apartment.” Roy belittled, waving a hand out to the room and the house that lay beyond its walls, not even having to give their orders to the man behind the bar they approached before his glass of scotch and her red wine was sitting, waiting for them on the polished marble - a testimony to just how many of the stupid events they had both attended. “Although I do wish that you wouldn’t call me a baby. There’s only three years between us.”

“We stay at the mansion more nights than not, actually.” Felicity shrugged, completely ignoring both his words and the way the muscles in his face twitched. “Which is weird, because Oliver always used to say that he hated this place. I think it might just be a possession thing, you know? Like, ‘my house, my bed, my lover’ sort of thing? Not that he possesses me, that’s not what I meant, but… ah, forget it, you know what I mean.”

“I do _not_ want to hear about your sex life, thank you very much.” Roy cut over her, tipping back his drink and asking for another before the words were even out of his mouth.

“I never said the word ‘sex’ Roy.” She pointed out, sipping at her wine delicately and scowling down at the lipstick print she left behind, like she could make it got away just by glaring at it. “That was just you being dirty minded again.”

“You said bed, Lis. Anyone with half a brain would know what you meant by that.“ Roy shrugged, but he was wincing again, like the big baby he was.

“You know, the amount of times we’ve actually had sex in a bed, compared to all the sex that we’ve actually had, it’s surprisingly low.” She laughed teasingly, and Roy brought his hands up to cover his ears and turned his back on her, his eyes screwed closed. She ducked under his arm, careful of her wine as she stood in front of him again, her cheeks hurting as he peeked open an eye to make sure that she was laughing.

She wiped the lipstick off of her glass for his impudence - and smeared it straight across the ridge of his cheekbone.

“I take it back! I take it back!” He proclaimed loudly, trying to wipe away the pink line. “I don’t love you at all! You’re a pain in the arse!”

“Well that really is too bad.” She told him, laughing as he struggled. “Because I love you.” And she kissed him on the other cheek in proof, and he shoved her away, whining about lipstick and unusual forms of bullying.

"Are you giving her back, Roy?" Oliver asked as he came up behind them from further down the bar, and he looped his arm around her slim waist, pulling her into him. "Or are you keeping her?"

"Get lost, Queen." Roy laughed jokingly, pulling her back gently in his direction. "Get your own adorable hacker. This one's mine."

“I am not a chew toy!” She scoffed, pulling herself from Roy’s warm body and winding her own arms around Oliver’s warmer body, slotting herself into his side perfectly as she smiled up at him. “Hey you.”

“Hello, Love.” Oliver smiled lovingly, her stomach flipping the way it normally did when he was smiling at her and he bent his head down, raising her chin with callused fingers to meet him so he could kiss her lightly, Roy gagging beside them. “Shut it, Harper.” He growled as he pulled back, nuzzling his nose against hers.

“Yeah Roy!” She tried to keep the giggle out of her voice and sound dismissive as she waved him away. ”Go snog Thea or something. We’re busy.”

“Don’t you dare.” Oliver lifted his head from hers to glare at Roy over her shoulder, before he transferred the glare - if slightly tampered down - to her. “Stop encouraging him.”

“He’s young and in love. He doesn’t need encouraging.” She bit down on her lower lip to stop her from laughing at Oliver’s glare. “Although, if he did need it, I’m pretty sure that that’s what Thea’s for. She does a pretty good job at corrupting him.”

“Stop.” Oliver raised a hand to cover her mouth lightly. “Please, no more.”

“I’ll stop flaunting my relationship with your sister when you stop flaunting yours with mine.” Roy told him, using all of the tips and tricks that Oliver had taught him to seem more intimidating to the older archer. “I saw the magazines this week, Queen. You can act all adorable and love-struck for the press, but I’ve got memories that I’d do anything to forget. Brain bleach needs to be invented so I can get rid of the urge to sterilize all vertical surfaces in the ArrowCave after you two have been left alone.” Oliver starred, his glare still in place, Roy’s imitation techniques rendering useless, which she’d sort of expected. Not much intimidate Oliver these days.

“Maybe you should go rescue your girlfriend from your niece, Roy, before you get into trouble.” She suggested, freeing her arm from where it was still tangled up with Oliver’s to squeeze his forearm.

“Oh, he’s already in trouble.” Oliver growled. Roy was always in trouble these days, although not for the same reasons that he _used_ to get into trouble for. Thankfully. “Just you wait ‘till training, Harper.”

“And on that wonderful note…” Roy guffawed, as intimidated by Oliver as Oliver was by him. “I‘ll see you later, Lis, okay?” He winked at her slightly, stepping back out of Oliver’s immediate reach. “Probably in the morning. We can sneak out together, yeah?”

“ _Roy!_ ” Oliver roared, and the younger man dived; not away from him, but closer, kissing her cheek and using her as a cover, before he sprinted off in the opposite direction, weaving through the dance floor's occupants, the jacket of his open suit flapping in the wind his movements created.

“That boy-” Oliver sighed, but he shook his head fondly, his lips pulled up like he was trying not to laugh. Oliver Queen was literally the walking definition of ‘contradictory’.

“Is one of the best things that has ever happened to Team Arrow, and to Thea, so suck it up, Buttercup. We’re not going to be rid of him anytime soon.” She smiled, watching Roy across the room as he scooped up Sara from the floor - where she was steadily beating her dis-heartened aunt at snap.

“‘Buttercup’?” He repeated, stealing her wine glass from where it dangled between her fingers loosely and finishing it off in one mouthful. “Did you just call me Buttercup?”

“Did you just finish my wine?” She asked back, her eyes bright with an anger that no one could ever fake. “Oliver!” He laughed at her outrage and stepped closer to her, drawing her in with an arm looped around her upper back, bending his knees and arching his spine so she barely had to raise her chin to meet his kiss. It didn’t seem like the most painless of positions, but Oliver seemed have no issue responding when she tugged him closer by the small of his back, her small hand curled in his hair to hold him close.

“Dance with me?” He whispered, breaking the kiss for long enough to mouth the words against her lips, so quiet that she barely heard the words that accompanied the movement. She moved back, just a few centimeters, to answer him, but he seemed to have an issue with that, because before she could even open her eyes he had a hand balled him her hair, mirroring her hold on him, and he was kissing her again, his hold tighter and his more relentless than before, his large stature curved around her tiny frame.

“No.” She told him when he let her breathe again, slumped against his body. She watched the confusion flit across his perfect features, he’d forgotten that he’d asked her something apparently, and then the comprehension replaced that, and then affliction replaced _that_. “Because _that_ is no way to ask a lady to dance, Oliver Queen, no matter whose bed she’s sleeping in. Honestly, I thought you were raised better! Try later - ask nicely and I may say yes.” She smiled, watching the crinkles in his face smooth out, and kissed the corner of his mouth. “And also because you drank my wine.”

“Get more then!” He laughed, which was always a novel thing, when it came from Oliver.

“What if I wanted that one in particular? What if it had, I dunno, special ‘Queen worthy’ power?” She retorted, her hands planted on her hips, the gold fabric rustling under her palms as she shifted her weight to the left. The first dress she’d picked out for this advent had been green - so close to matching the hood that they could have been cut from the same cloth. She’d dragged Roy out into town to go shopping with her, wanting a second opinion on the dresses she’d tried on before she’d brought them. He’d complained every damn second from the moment they’d got into her mini to the second she’d pulled up outside her apartment and dragged him inside for take out, where she swore - to his face - that she was never going to take him shopping again. He didn’t even like the dress, which had really been it’s main selling point. It was too revealing, too short, too green, he’d complained (while simultaneously trying to brainwash her into buying the red version, because Thea had already stated that she was wearing blue and he was _still sulking about that_ ) which had meant that it was perfect.

(That did mean though, when Oliver had found her trying on the dress - and maybe the matching, lacy underwear that she had definitely not gone back without her baby brother to buy, because she was not admitting to that at all - a few days later and all but shredded the dress, she had to blush her way through another terrible lie to Thea, claiming that she’d got it caught on a loose nail somewhere in her apartment, so that the younger woman would got with her to find a replacement. Oliver’s reaction to the new dress hadn’t be quite as strong, which was good, because it meant that she had at least one dress that she could wear without blushing madly or being dragged back into her apartment.)

“Felicity…” Oliver sighed, leaning his forehead against her, still bent at his awkward angle. “We’ve discussed this. Multiple times. There. Is. No. Such. Thing.”

“I know that its not a literal thing - obviously -” She sighed, leaning back so that he, almost as if it was compulsory, stood back up straight, his hip leant on the bar beside him. “But we seem to be having a hard time trying to convince the media of that, and honestly, those magazines Roy was talking about? I seriously can not deal with what they have to say anymore.”

“Good.” Oliver nodded. “Although, what they think they’re on about, I have no idea. Thing are looking pretty good from where I’m standing.”

“Depends on where you stand.” She told him somberly, folding her arms. “I’m no Laurel.”

Oliver stared at her, blinking. Apparently, she’s finally broken him.

“What - _the hell_ \- has Laurel got to do with anything?” He choked out eventually, glancing back over his shoulder at the woman and her dance partner. “Did she say anything to you?”

“God, no!” Felicity shook her head fiercely. “Laurel’s been nothing but supportive. Honestly, she has bets going with Roy and John and everything.” 

“Bets?” He repeated, forehead creasing in confusion. “What bets?”

She glared at him, staring up at him from under the layers of makeup that Thea had all but bullied her into playing model for. “Bigger issues here, Oliver.”

“Issues you’re not explaining!” He snapped back in the same tone. “Why bring Laurel up if she’s not even got anything to do with the issue?”

“Because the media _love_ nothing more than a scandal.” She watched Oliver tence and turn, looking for the owner of the disembodied voice, his whole body finally relaxing when he located Quentin behind him, a glass of water in one hand, and one of red wine in his other.

“Captain!” She greeted him warmly, reaching past Oliver to hug him tightly, taking her drink from his hand. “What poor soul did you dump my mother onto?“

“Mr. Diggle asked her to dance.” He told her, slightly pouty. “I’m not exactly allowed to say no, am I?”

“Hello Captain Lance.” Oliver smiled politely, the corners of his mouth and eyes still crinkled in the confusion that he couldn’t seem to boot out of his head. He offered a hand to the older man to shake. “What’s wrong with the media?”

“Oh, everything, kid. You should know that better than anyone.” He smiled, any of the tension that had existed between the two men (the ‘you cheated on my daughter with my other daughter, and I’m blaming you for that daughter’s death’ thing) had long since dissipated. “But my main issues at the minute is how they’re pitting one of my girls against the other.”

“It’s not really pitting…” She hummed thoughtfully, watching Oliver’s face transform almost instantly into a storm. “If anything it’s comparing at most, but - you know, I don’t think that its even that-”

“Felicity.” Lance stopped her with a warm hand on her shoulder, pressed lightly to attract her attention.

“Comparing…” Oliver repeated her word though, which had to count as some kind of victory. He glanced over at Lance, his hand coming to settle at her waist, pulling her firmly against his chest from behind. “They’re comparing her to Laurel? What _is_ there to compare?”

“Loads of things.” She sighed, reclining against his chest to look up at him. “Looks, history-”

“Occupation.” Lance put in with a shrug.

“Wealth.” She shrugged, starting to keep a tally on her fingers.

“Past romances.”

“I’m gonna say looks again, because, honestly, that came up a lot.”

“Family.”

“How long they think the relationship’s going to last.” She sighed, pivoting slightly on her heel to look back at Oliver. “The future does not look bright for us, just so you know. So, Laurel’s that’a way, if you wanna get back with her.” She didn’t hear Oliver’s growl, but she did feel it, vibrating where the bones parts of her pressing into him. “Starling city’s star crossed lovers and all that.”

“Yeah, don’t do that, Queen.” Quentin told him humorlessly. “I’d hate to break my girl’s heart because I tased you.” He shook his head, turning his head to look at her. “And you…” he breathed, patting her arm. “You need to stop reading the shit that they’re publishing. It only eats away at you from the inside, Sweetheart.”

“I know,” She sighed. “It’s just hard… My computer pings and then all of a sudden I’ve finished the newest article and I’m trying not to cry. It’s honestly one of the stupidest things that I’ve ever been a part of.”

“No, I can think of stupider.” Lance told her flatly. “Like… I don’t know, maybe anything that involves you being bait for the Arrow’s latest.”

“That happens too often.” Oliver sighed into her hair. “I should have words with him.” She pushed her elbow back into his firm stomach, not enough to hurt, but enough to be uncomfortable and get her message across. Because the mental image of Oliver arguing with his Hooded self? Way too close for comfort.

“Surely I’m slightly more scarier than you, Queen?” Lance saved her, again, even though he was saving her from this time. “I’m a cop; I carry a gun. You’re a billionaire; you carry…”

“Billions?” She offered with a laugh. They were giving her her smile back, bit by bit, and of course, she’d much rather giggle her way through the evening than spend it discussing the _‘top five reasons why Oliver Queen’s “relationship” with his executive assistant will be over in three months.’_

(FYI: That article had been released five months ago.)

“Also,” Lance smiled, nodding. “I think the ‘Daddy’ card is worth just a little bit more than the ‘jealous boyfriend’ card.”

“Not jealous.” Oliver grunted, while she cringed.

“Were you listening to my conversation with Roy?” She asked the Captain, who, unlike Oliver, had actually been out on the dance floor with her. “Because the conversation we're having started out a lot like this one.”

“Déjà vu moment?” Oliver asked softly, kissing the top of her head just as gently. Why exactly that was something kiss worthy, she had no idea, but really, Oliver had a habit of dropping random kisses on whatever exposed skin was closest to him, like she would disappear if he didn’t.

“Not exactly.” She shrugged, pushing her head back into him. “We were talking about gropy dance partners - the one from the first galla that up punched.” Oliver growled, his fingers tightening around her hips, pulling her against him possessively. Protectively.

“I can’t decide if I’m relieved or disgusted that this is the first time I’m hearing about this. “Quentin told her, his lips pressed thin and tight. “You break anything?” He asked Oliver.

“His nose.” Oliver shrugged, apparently avoiding mentioning the fact that he’d broken part of his finger in the process. Lance smiled, offering Oliver his hand first this time, his grin splitting his face. Oliver shook it, his own smile creeping over his face while she rolled her eyes at them.

“Hey!” She cried from between them, pushing down on Oliver’s arm until he let go of the other man’s hand. “Oi! Watch the testosterone levels! I am more than capable of protecting myself! I punched him too, remember?”

“Of course you are!” Lance promised, touching her shoulder lightly, which seemed to be a thing when it came to the men who cared about her. “That doesn’t mean that we don’t want to do it for you. Or to stop you from having to.”

“Nobody is punching anyone, and nobody is talking to anyone else about me. No one is playing any cards.” She tilted her head back to look up at Oliver, before looking back to Lance again. “Capisce?”

“Yes ma’am.” Oliver promised, sliding his hand up her arm gently. Not that there was anything that he ever did with her that wasn’t gentle, mind. He dropped his lips down against her forehead, sealing the promise.

“‘Course, Sweetheart.” Lance sighed happily. And, as the next song started up behind them, he offered her his arm, grinning madly, sparing one short glance in Oliver’s direction. “May I have this dance, My Dear?” He asked her, faking the poshness in his voice.

“Of course.” She smiled, her own grin pulled wider and happier as she felt Oliver splutter at her back, giggling as she slipped her hand through the older man’s arm, nodding her head as she let him escort her back to the dance floor. She caught her vigilante’s eye over her shoulder, her waist still cooling from her hold and, pathetically, she missed him already.

“So,” Lance sighed when he had her in his hold, swaying clumsily to the music that had already reached it’s first chorus. He wasn’t as good a dancer as Oliver or Roy, but he held her close enough for her to steal his body heat, and he didn’t step on her feet. Like she had always imagined a father/daughter at a wedding. Not that they were at a wedding though, or that she was his daughter, for that matter. “How have you been?”

“Since Thursday?” She asked, leaning sideways to avoid the arm of one particularly enthusiastic dancer. “That was two days ago! I’m fine, thank you. No kidnapping, or shooting, or attacking in general really. It’s been a slow week.”

“Don’t complain!” Lance laughed, glancing around almost strategically over her shoulder back at Oliver. “And, uh… what about the Oliver situation? Any change there?”

“No.” She sighed, dropping her head down against his shoulder. “No weddings, no babies. For the one hundredth time: If Oliver proposes - or if I find out that I’m pregnant - I will tell you. You don’t need to keep asking!” She giggled happily.

“You better.” He told her, digging his fingers into her ribs to keep her attention focused. “I’ve got a lot of you money riding on you two, young lady!”

“Don’t tell me that you’re in on the bets as well!” She cried, raising her head to look up at him in shock.

“Of course I am.” He nodded his promise, raising a hand to bop on the end of her nose lightly. She crossed her eyes to look at his finger and stuck her tongue out at him. “Never miss a chance to make money, me!”

“You could always tell me the terms of your bet…” She offered, more so because she was curious rather than she could actually help with them coming true. She already knew that Digg had a hundred quid on a wedding within two years, Laurel had lost last year, with a hundred on a wedding within a year of when they had first (eventually) told her they were together _and_ that she’d at least be pregnant by that point, if not already had a baby. Roy had fifty on first baby within three years _after_ the wedding, but he’d get an extra sixty on top if it was a girl. Thea had two hundred and fifty on a proposal with in the year.

It was rather daunting actually - because she could _see_ most of them happening.

“And let you loose me money?” He scoffed lightheartedly. “I trust you with a lot of things, Sweetheart, but I trust no one when it comes to betting.“ She laughed, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

“I’d never sabotage you.” She promised him honestly.

“Good.” He nodded. “Seriously though, no babies before you’re married! I mean it!”

“Is that one of the terms of your bet, or just some ‘friendly’ advice?” She asked, making the quotation marks behind his back where he couldn’t see them.

“I will never be telling you that.” He promised, before changing the subject none so sutly. “How’re things in the ArrowCave? The kid behaving?”

“Arsenal.” She reminded him, yet again, keeping her eyes on Roy for as long as she could before their dance put her back to him. He was dancing, his large hands wrapped around his partners waist where he was lifting her from the floor. Sara was laughing at him, chatting away as the people around them marveled at how the scrawny boy could hold the five year old up so easily. “He’s fine, like normal. Behaving.” She shrugged. “Or, as much as we can expect him to.”

“Well, that’s good.” He nodded, stepping back slightly to look at her better. “And the other two? Behaving?”

“We’re a group of Vigilantes, Captain,” She pointed out, tilting her head with a grin. “We put criminals behind bars and leave a trail of blood in our wake. We do not behave!”

“Except the kid?”

“The kid does as I tell him to.” She grinned, letting him spin her away, under his arm before he dipped her spectacularly. She was laughing, clinging to his arms as her eyes welled with tears as he pulled her back up, grinning his own, slightly smaller, smile.

“Good.” He pressed his lips together like he was contemplating what to say, and she tilted her head at him, pulling up her most reassuring smile. “I’m glad you’re okay, Sweetheart. That you’re happy.”

“I’m more than happy, Captain.” She promised, leaning forward to rest her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes to the outside world. “And you’re part of the reason for that, really. You, and Oliver, and Roy, and my Mum, and the Diggle’s…” She looked up at him, wincing. “Okay, I’m gunna shut up. Right now. Because this is sounding really creepy. And why am I still talking?! Three, Two, One...”

“It’s not creepy at all, Felicity.” Quentin assured her, switching up their dance and spinning them the other way to the way they had been going. “The people you love are the people you love, no explanation needed.” He pulled a face then, somewhere between confusion and amusement. “Well, except how you got involved with the Harper kid. Queen… I get how you met him and all that jazz, and okay, yes he’s a better person now than he was and I’m getting used to you two being… _you two_. But the Harper boy… that makes no sense _whatsoever!_ ”

“ _Roy_ ,” She corrected, raising her eyebrow. “Blame Thea for that. Her and her family dinners, which she’s taken to blackmailing me and Roy into, since the Queen family is just her and Oliver at the moment.”

“So they’re ‘Queen family and significant other’ family dinners then are they?” On her nod, he dropped a light kiss on her cheek, squeezing her hand tightly. He did that quite often really, in apology, acceptance, love, fondness, amusement, pity, and all the rest. Shoulder touches had been Oliver’s thing. Now hand squeezes were becoming his. “Oh, and while we’re on the topic of family dinners - We’re having one next week when Dinah’s in town. You’re coming - no excuses.”

“Captain -”

“Nope.” He shook his head with a smile. “You are coming, end of. Dinah basically bullied me into asking if you’d come, so I’m not the only one who wants you to be there. And this is our first family dinner without Sara, so we could probably use your unintended humour. Plus, I don’t think Dinah and I have agreed on anything since we got divorced, I’m sure Laurel would appreciate your help in making sure we keep the decibel level down.”

“Captain!” She interrupted him loudly, failing to keep the giggle out of her voice again. “Would you like me to say yes now, or do you want to keep trying unnecessarily to convince me?”

“Oh thank god.” He sighed in relief. “Thank you Sweetheart. I’m really going to need the moral support for this one.” He moved the hand that was looped around her waist, jamming his fingers in between her ribs. “And hey, stop with the ‘Captain’ will ya? I’d adopt you if it was legal, stop addressing me like I’m about to arrest you!”

“Yes, _Dad_!” She laughed jocularly, nudging him back.

“That’s better.” He nodded, completely seriously, despite the smile on his face.

“Hey?”

The music had ended yet again, probably after another three songs that she’d completely missed, court up in the conversation and the gentle sway of their dance. They’d moved too, closer now to the middle of the dancefloor rather than closer to the edge of it, and the people she could see around her were not ones that she recognised. Other than Quentin. And Oliver.

“Heya kid.” Lance smiled at him, letting go of his hold on her slightly. “Come to ask for a dance?”

“If you don’t mind, Dad, I’d love to steal her away from a moment.” Oliver smiled back, the small, but very appealing lines appearing around his eyes. The laughter lines were rare, but they were one of the most attractive parts of Oliver really, once you got past the muscles and the hair and the voice. And the eyes. And the jawline…

“Okay, you don’t get to call me dad.” Lance laughed at the slightly insulted look on Oliver’s face. “I’m still not sure if you’re even worthy of my girl, but that’s not for me to decide, is it?” He asked, looking down at Felicity as she smiled up at him. She leant forward to press her lips to his cheek, and when leant back, he let go of her, surrendering her to Oliver’s hands. “So, next week?”

“Yeah, next week.” She agreed, nodding as stepped away from him, sliding her hand into Oliver’s. “I’ll be there.”

“You better be.” He nodded at Oliver as well, “Offer extends to you too, Kid.”

“Offer?” Oliver asked down to her.

“I’ll explain later.” She promised, pressing up further on her toes in her heels to wrap one of her arms around his neck, keeping her balance as she ruffled his short hair with the other. “Just as soon as you say yes.”

“I’d be delighted to attend what you’re inviting me to, Captain.” Oliver smiled, amusement pulling at every muscle in his face. “Whatever that is…” he winked down at her.

“I’m sure my girl will explain,” Lance rolled his eyes back at Oliver. “And you, Queen? Behave! Or I will do a lot worse than tase you!” And he turned his back on the two, waving at her over his shoulder with none of the menace that his last sentence had contained.

“Is it weird that he’s scarier now than he ever was when it was Laurel he was trying to protect?” Oliver asked her, his eye line moving from over her shoulder where Lance disappeared into the crowd, down to her. He reached out, looping his arms around her waist and pulling her into him, dropping his mouth down to brush against the top of her hair.

“Very weird.” She nodded, leaning as close into him as she could get, his giganticness swallowing her small frame whole. “Especially since the younger, shit head Oliver couldn’t kick Lance’s arse like you can now.”

“I’d resent that-” He laughed that stupid little Oliver-giggle that she could never hear unless her ear was pressed against his heart, and even then she couldn’t hear it. It was more like she felt the happiness in him in the way his breath caught and his heart spluttered. “-If it wasn’t for the fact that you’re absolutely right.”

She laughed, pushing her nose against the buttons on his shirt as he swayed them gently. “‘Licity?”

“Umhu?”

“What did I just agree to do?” She looked up at him, beaming widely at him. There was no worry in him at all. He knew - he trusted her - that she wouldn’t get him into anything that he would absolutely hate… unless it was absolutely necessary.

“Family dinner with the Lances, next week.” She shrugged. “It’ll be fine. Can’t be any worse than lunch with mum and Thea the other day.”

“We’re never letting those two in the same room again. Ever.” Oliver told her, and she didn’t even have to look up to know exactly what the ghastly expression on his face looked like.

“I think that might be a little difficult to accomplish, Oliver.” She sighed, rolling her eyes as she looked up at him, shuffling how they danced, her arms under his and on his back, both of his around her waist so she could plant her chin on his sternum. “What are we going to do in the future? Just not invite one of them to any parties we know the other is going to be at? Because I think they’ll both probably have an issue with that.”

“Especially the more important parties.” He pointed out with a smile. “Birthdays…”

“Weddings.”

“Baby showers.”

“Plural?” She scoffed, lifting her head away from him. “Oh no! Absolutely not. No way. There is no way I am pulling up with more than one mini you _and you_ at the same time. No.”

“But being an only child is boring!” He told her, bending down to press his forehead to her. “Those years that I didn’t have Thea following after me… god, so dull!”

“Excuse me?” She pushed him back, curling her nose up at him. “You are talking to the queen of single childhood here, Mr! You had ten years of it! I was twenty six before I finally adopted Digg and Roy!” He snorted, pulling her back in and gathering her as close as he could without squashing her. “Besides, you had Tommy and Laurel to get into trouble with! It’s not like you were lonely, Oliver!”

“Okay, yeah okay, I’ll give you that.” He smiled fondly down at her, running his fingers over her back in patterns that were more than likely Russian for something sappy and romantic. “But, seriously, only one?”

“You want more than one kid, you can give birth to them, Jerkward!” She shuddered mockingly, screwing up her face. He kissed her head again in retaliation to her half-arse insult, rolling his eyes at her which somehow morphed into that adorable little chuckle she loved so much.

“God I love you.” He told her, kissing her repeatedly wherever he could reach. “I love you so much. Have I told you that recently?”

“Yes.” She smiled, pressing up on her toes to kiss the corner of his mouth in her own retaliation. “You’ve been telling me for the last five years, Oliver!”

“Speaking of which…” He smiled, before she swept her up off the floor, spinning her around him, the pretty gold dress swinging around her ankles, before she slid down him and back to the floor. “Happy Anniversary, My Love.”

“Happy Anniversary, Oliver.” She grinned back at him, reaching up to trail her fingers through the scruff on his face, pressing her most gentlest of kisses to his temple and then down to the top of his ear. His hands tightened around her waist, pulling her in until he couldn’t let her go. “Four years go by so quickly, don’t they?”

“Best four years of my life.” He promised her, bending down fully to kiss her properly, softly and sweetly, but with everything that he had, like he was trying to convince her. It didn’t matter anyway, because she believed him. “The next four years are going to be just as great. And every minute after that.”

And, thinking of the small black box that she’d found in his jacket earlier that evening, she believed that too.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm think of writing the Lance family dinner, but I haven't decided yet. Opinions? Please??
> 
> Thanking yous.  
> TLPV Xx


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